A Huge, Genuine Woody!

Yes, it actually is a truck made out of wood- not just painted to look that way. I've seen several over here.

Take that, Beach Boys!

And if you are building a truck out of wood, what do you call your company?

Bacon Potato Chips!

Bacon Potato Chips!

Err, crisps....

.44 Smith and Wesson KEYCHAIN personal alarm...

Yes, it actually is a truck made out of wood- not just painted to look that way. I've seen several over here.

Take that, Beach Boys!

And if you are building a truck out of wood, what do you call your company?

Lost! And Saved by Secret Seeds and the Exeter Inn, Bampton...

The meet was about an hour away, and I arrived where directed a half hour early.

No one there.

So I drove around, casting wider and wider, still no luck. Stopped to ask where there looked like there was life, no luck. The man at Secret Seeds suggested I try the public house a couple of miles up the road. (And really,how does he expect to keep it a secret with a web page and a sign right there on the road?)

So I did, it was the Exeter Inn, near Bampton.

One often hears, and sometimes experiences, that English hospitality and service are poor. Not at this place! Alison took charge, and started looking through old bookings to find the telephone number of someone she knew would know the way.

Then Trevor arrived- he'd just seen horses unboxing a couple of miles away, so off I dashed- to find nothing.

Grr. Back to the Inn, where they had been telephoning everyone they knew who might know- all, of course, failing to answer.

Another reconnaissance, fruitless. Baaaack to the inn, success! Clear directions to the meet, where I fell in with hounds and got soaked, cold, confused- the kind of day you usually pay extra for. Actually it was fun, not least for seeing my favourite western pack and their hard working, hard dancing, and cheerful staff in action.



(In accordance with best insurgent practice, no names, no faces, no license numbers, dates fiddled.)

Worlds Fastest Tractor!

Nameplate...



Yes, I know the tractors were first. But sometimes the new product eclipses the original brand, and it's jarring to see it.

Laugh Now, Stagboy...

Your enemies at the League and RSPCA have transformed you from a noble beast of the chase into an agricultural pest and mere target. You're lucky that we were Staghunters with a camera, and not meat shooters with a rifle.

This time.

How To Get Hunting People to Smile Bigger...

50-60 mile per hour wind gusts, horizontal rain, cold, obstreperous horse, and all four predicted to get worse as the day goes on:



"Think about Gordon Brown looking for work":

Awwwwww.....

Hound puppehs!

Man Rides Down The Road Wearing A Hat Like That...

... you know he's not afraid of anything.

A pretty song....

One good thing about going to England is that I hear music that wouldn't get any traction in the U. S...

An Ugly Racial Incident…

So, hunting like crazy. The other day, out with a smaller pack of hounds. Unfortunately, the day was marred by an ugly racial incident.

The meet was at a crossroads, maybe a dozen or so mounted followers and as many vehicles. Hounds were sat waiting.

All looks peaceful in this picture, doesn't it?



Now I’ve often spoken proudly about the way that visitors are made welcome to hunt. In these days of our insurgency there are going to be some looks and questions if one just appears unannounced, but a bit of conversation and the “Do you know…“ game usually is enough to establish bona fides.

I’ve heard that in some places unknown attendees are sometimes discouraged, or even given rough treatment. And not in the fun way. But these tales never seem to come from actual witnesses, it’s always hearsay or reputation evidence.

Not this time. I was with R., so it was all smiles for me. Then, a visitor showed up unescorted, on foot. Just walking along a country lane minding his own business, not offering any offence.

Living down South, I’m used to seeing every colour all over the place, and don’t really pay attention.

But I was the only celebrator of diversity there. People instantly became tense, and parted so as to avoid contact. The staff and Masters did the opposite, blocking the way and impeding his progress.

You’d have thought it was a Mississippi lunch counter in 1953.

I figured this was just because it was a stranger, but there wasn’t any attempt to converse. Then it got worse, the Master told a couple of the foot people- terriermen, I later found out- to “Kick him down the road.“

He meant it figuratively I’m sure, and no actual kick was offered, but the stranger was grabbed by the neck and hustled- all but dragged, really- past the hounds and across the intersection. He was given a hard shove and a gruff “Get out of here” to speed him on his way.

Again, I’d like to think this was because it was a stranger, or even a monitor. But the Master distinctly said,

“Get that Black SOB out of here.” And he wasn’t the only one who referred to colour, or to possible immigrant status either.

Institutional racism, that’s what it is.

Unfortunately I was so shocked by the events that I didn't think to get my camera out until the whole thing was over. But as we drove away I saw and took this picture of the victim:

Our Commanders Can't Recognise Defeat...

Look, Generals and Commander in Chief, you need to retake Defeat 101.

Major Loser has, all by himself, inflicted a significant defeat on the Great Satan generally and its Army particularly.

First, he destroyed a platoon (officer heavy) all by himself. Roughly ten million dollars in direct pension and medical treatment and pension costs.

Next, once we put thousands of metal detectors at military hospitals, millions of dollars in security theatre equipment and hundreds of thousands of hour of security theater wasted time.

24/7/365, FOREVER. Figure what, two thouand full time dedicated kabuki security? Times three shifts?

He's cost the U. S. military establishment what, a brigade? Two brigades?

Granted, our level of self damaging overreaction will be grossly out of proportion to what this traitor actually did. But the overreaction is predictable.

Good work, General Cone. Enjoy your promotion and pension, General Fredendall got them too.

Another win for our enemies, courtesy of our own lack of seriousness.

A Great Haircut and a Tale of Romance…

So, it was time for me to get a haircut before going away- but things intervened and I went still shaggy. While walking in Taunton I passed Affinity For Hair at 44 Bridge Street, among all the charity shops.

(Sciencegirl is right, I ought to just travel with nothing and stock up here. At least on coats!)

So I had my hair cut by Laura, and it was a real pleasure. I told her how I like having my hair cut, the touching and being fiddled with. She said she didn’t like having hers done, which struck me as odd so I asked why.

"Because I know I can do it better. If I could take my head off and cut my own hair I would.”

I said THAT, I understood, it was an artist speaking. No one who loves doing something and is good at is can easily watch another perform. I suspect that holds true with any artist, racing drivers probably can barely endure a taxi ride.

But it was a real pleasure to feel her interest and effort come through in what some people would consider a prosaic or at least repetitive task. I admit that’s
powerful for me, and awesome to be around.

(No, I’m not about to have the Heather Blake experience again, once is enough.)


So if you need a snip in Taunton, give Laura a try!

As a bonus, someone in the shop heard me saying I was from away on holiday, and she told me she was not local either, but from Much Bigger City, and was establishing herself here as (NOT) a car mechanic. I asked her how she came to be here, and it was because it was her Beau’s home. Turns out she met him while on holiday in a third place, took a real liking to him but didn’t exchange digits.

The next week, she was at work in MBC, and thought she saw him walk past the garage.

“Don’t tell me, he went to MBC and looked in every garage until he saw you.”

No- a little later a friend of his came in to the garage and asked if she knew Beau from the holiday, because Beau said he thought he saw her in the garage.

Just coincidence- Beau and friend were there on some work related errand.

And the rest is history.

Of course, HE told it was coincidence. I like to think that he indeed did block the day out, and went to MBC to look into every garage to find his vacation crush.

Just took friend along to provide VTAOBAUN, and to insulate Beau from the shootdown he might have feared.

So, that was a day at the hairdressers. Hunting (within the law) tomorrow!

Fort Hood LOSER Mass Killing Rewrite

Do it yourself, I'm travelling.

I love all the "motive is unclear" stuff from the people giving this trash traitor and maker of orphans MILLIONS OF DOLLARS WORTH OF PUBLICITY.

Hey, he's a psychiatrist. His actions make perfect sense!

It's not as though he knew what to say to game the system and avoid being deployed.

Or could prescribe himself drugs, either.

Face it- shooting up a base full of soldiers is the PERFECT way to avoid the three worst things about deployment- uncertainty, risk of injury, and a dramatic decline in personal living conditions.

Yep, he did it because he didn't want to be deployed. Its the only POSSIBLE explanation.

Whoo-oop!

In England at last, out with the Exmoor tomorrow. Always a happy/sad experience that I wouldn't give up and wish I could.

Strange. Narcissists and sociopaths have it easy.